(It’s) the end of the tale
the sudden stroke of night,
it’s a thorn in your hand
the dismay in the face.
it’s the promise of life
it’s the joy in your heart.
It’s the end of all strain
it’s the wind blowing free,
the promise of spring
it’s a little alone.
Dedicated to a friend of mine who headed homeward recently; may your eyes be filled with golden slumber.
Words taken from Antonio Carlos Jobim “Water of March”, rearranged by yours truly.
How do you gather your red, while waiting for the autumn in the lightless soil?
When the three a.m. air tells me the summer is near, I think of your bulbs, eavesdropping on the night.
Project Name: Spider Lily Red
Current Status: On
References: Progress of this project / Previous dyed items
Memories of many flights linger. Of gliding through salt water mists and sprays. 90 degree dives, the impacts, the chills. How sardines danced on this beak.